Last week I got naked with my best friend Rachel and our Business Writing Teaching Assistant (TA) Tom. That's right. I, Wendy Olivia Witney, a virgin and the daughter of a Baptist minister, was an eager participant in a three-some. Surprised? Don't be.
I'm still the same boring preacher's daughter that I've always been. I just stepped out of myself for one night, and things happened. I wanted them to happen again.
My Business Writing class has lectures on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We are also required to attend a weekly lab with 15 people led by a TA. My friend Rachel Mauer and I have the same TA, Tom Broderick.
We both liked Tom from the beginning. For the labs I always wore peasant skirts and floral blouses with scoped necklines that allowed some cleavage to peek out. He appreciates full-figured women. He's 5'10" so I'm almost has tall as he is. He says I have an infectious laugh and a pleasant face, but I think it's my red hair that got his attention. That and my D-cup breasts. Duh!
Rachel always schedules her conference before mine so we can meet up at his office. Rachel my opposite. She's short, with small breasts, and a little heart-shaped butt. She wears tight jeans, western cut blouses, and Tony Llama cowboy boots. She intimidates other students with her brains and her smart mouth. Outside of our Campus Ministries praise group, I'm probably Rachel's only female friend.
I'm pursuing an MFA at State College, and picking up extra income as a TA for the Business Writing classes. This course has a blended lecture/small group/individual format. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for 75 minutes, 150 undergrads crowd into Olin 115 to watch Dr. Phillip Sweety show PowerPoint Slides and lecture from his textbook, Business Communications for the Twenty-first Century. Students also meet on Tuesday or Thursday evenings in groups of 15 to go over the lecture material. Plus students are also encouraged to meet individually with their TA.
I teach two labs and so conference with 30 students and grade all their papers using rubrics designed by Phil Sweety. Dr. Sweety doesn't grade papers any more unless there is a grade appeal. Wendy Whitney and Rachel Mauer are the two best students in my Wednesday night lab.
I like them both. Wendy wears poofy blouses with scoped necklines and cleavage. She is curvaceous, with full hips and lips, and tall with piles of red hair.
Wendy has a nice laugh, and she writes well. She's never missed a lab and is always early for conferences. And yes, you are right, she didn't dress flirtatiously on class days, only for the evening labs. I should have connected the dots. Duh!
Her friend, Rachel, schedules conferences after Wendy's so they always meet up at my office. Rachel is short with small breasts. She favors tight jeans and western cut blouses and owns three pairs of cowboy boots that she wears in rotation. She is very vocal. She intimidates the males in the lab. Her only apparent female friend is Wendy.
I make the girls conference separately, but they usually stay until both are done. Then we talk over coffee about my writing or their other classes or about their aspirations. They have me read excerpts from my novel in progress. It's been nice. I especially appreciate the company now that Victoria, my fiancé, has dumped me for a PhD candidate in Sports Management who has a job offer from the Spurs.
The problem started last week. The Wednesday the mid-term lab was poorly attended. Three of the missing students were failing, and would probably drop. A fourth emailed me earlier to let me know he had strep throat and would bring in a doctor's note. Two students I didn't hear from. Of those attending, two had A's; the other seven had C's and D's. The A's were Wendy and Rachel.
"Could we talk?" they asked after everyone else had left.
"Sure, ladies, what's up?"
"Can we talk in your office?"
"Right this way." My office was an ex-storage room that I shared with five other grad assistances. Our desks were cordoned off into little cubicles. My officemates were rarely present for more than the mandatory office hours so I usually had the room to myself. Maybe that's why the girls felt comfortable there.
When we got to Tom's office, Wendy pulled two chairs up to his desk. I closed the door. "We need your advice," I told him, sitting down in the chair directly in front of him.
"We want to do something dangerous," Wendy added, sitting down beside me.
"So this isn't about your writing?"
"What do you mean by dangerous," Tom asked.
"She isn't suggesting that we spend the night in a lion's den or play games of Russian roulette," I told him. "I believe Wendy wants a sexual adventure." I thought it best not to mention that Wendy's virginity had been weighing heavily on her lately. I, on the other hand, had no such problem.
Listen, I love Wendy as a sister, but I doubt if there is a more naïve woman on Earth. It wasn't her fault. I'd met her parents. The father was a tyrant as only fundamentalist pastor could be, and her mother was a dishrag. No spine. But Wendy wasn't like either of them.
"What do you mean sexual adventure?" Tom asked.
"Like play strip poker," Rachel offered.
"I don't know now to play poker," I told her. "It wouldn't be fair." She snorted at that suggestion. "He'd take advantage and have us naked in a couple hands."
"Isn't that what you want?"
"No, Rachel. I want risk. Danger. An uncertain outcome." I admit, I wanted an adventure with a man, but I didn't necessarily want to get naked or fucked. That's why I suggested our TA, Tom. He was older. I thought we could trust him.
"Then let's play War," Rachel offered.
Tom scoffed. "That's a kids game."
"Strip War," Rachel retorted.
Now he was curious. "How would that work?" he asked. "I thought only two people play."
As I waited for an answer, I watched Rachel cross her legs. Her jeans were tight, hugging her hips, broad and sensuous. I followed her straight cut pants legs down to her blue hand-tooled cowboy boots. She had tiny feet. I wondered what it would be like to lick them.
"It's simple," she told us.
I looked up. She was smiling. She'd caught me staring. "Explain."
Rachel was getting into this, probably because I hadn't told the girls no. "We play two at a time." She turned to Wendy. "We can draw to see which two begin. We play until there is a war, that is, until we both turn over the same card. Two aces. Two jacks. Whatever."
"Then what happens?" Wendy asked innocently.
"Just like in the regular game of War. The players each count out three cards and then turn over the fourth. The high card gets the whole stack, plus an article of clothing from the loser. The loser steps out. The person who hadn't been playing steps in. Those two play until there is another war, draw two more cards. Someone loses a sock or a shirt or a pair of pants..."
I liked that idea. "And how does this game end?" I asked Rachel.
"When two of the three people playing are naked."
"So the winner is the one with clothes still on?"
"That remains to be seen." Rachel looked at Wendy and me. "The winner is the one with the most cards. The loser is the one with the least cards. The loser should do something special for the winner."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Wendy said. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her face was flushed. I believe she knew what she wanted, but she couldn't get herself to admit it, let alone embrace it.
"I thought that's what you wanted, Wendy," Rachel argued. "I thought you wanted to risk something for once in your life."
"All right," I said. "What about you, Tom? Are you willing?"
"It wouldn't be ethical or professional. I'm your TA, your teacher. You're my students. There's a power imbalance. It'd be totally inappropriate."
Rachel laughed a hearty laugh, and I think Tom knew exactly why, but she told him anyway. "Wendy wasn't asking you about your moral stance on the issue, she was inquiring whether you'd like to see us naked. I think you would."
Tom sighed and shook his head.
"Guilty as charged," he told us. I was real glad about that. "When do we do this?" he asked.
"Now!" we said in unison. We sounded far too eager. I lowered my voice. "Please."
"Let's go to my place," he suggested.
I live in a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of an old Victorian home on the edge of campus. It was a five-minute walk, but seemed longer. A wooden exterior staircase had been added to the house to meet the fire code. We climbed it rather than risk meeting any of the other grad students who lived there.
The game went quickly at first. We cut the cards, and it was decided that Rachel and I would the first to play. We were laughing like little kids and talking trash as we raced through the deck.
I lost my shoes to Rachel, who then lost her shoes to Wendy; who won my socks. She lost her shoes to Rachel who then won my shirt. I was down three items. They both had lost their shoes.
When Rachel lost her socks to Wendy, the mood started to shift. Maybe it was because I was so eager to see her bare feet. Or maybe it was because Wendy had begun to sense the possibilities.
"Come on, hurry up and take them off."
Rachel became irritated. "Just play. You don't need to watch me take of my socks."
.... There is more of this story ...